


One Fish, Two Fish, Dead Fish, New Fish

by Fangirl_Shrieks



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: Humor, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-06-01
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:28:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24497947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fangirl_Shrieks/pseuds/Fangirl_Shrieks
Summary: "I gave Tank Sinatra my heart, and he ruined it." OR When Will unknowingly catches the son of Hades in the back of an EMS ambulance in all black, he's a little suspicious. He's even more suspicious when no one else can see him. Brushing it off as a hallucination, Will moves on, but when he kills his pet fish and the boy shows up again, Will knows he's definitely not dreaming.
Relationships: Nico di Angelo & Will Solace
Comments: 1
Kudos: 24





	One Fish, Two Fish, Dead Fish, New Fish

**Author's Note:**

> Pride should be supported every day, but because of pride month, I have decided to finally branch out and create a Solangelo story, just because I love our babies. It's been a long time coming ik.
> 
> I'm sorry it's short, and moves too fast, and not nearly as complex as most of my oneshots (and probably not as good). I literally started this a couple hours ago from an idea I saw, and I realized I really wanted it out on June 1st, so here I am lol. I hope you like it regardless.
> 
> Also, this was originally on fanfiction.

It was strange, the things one remembered when everything around them was going up in flames.

Will thought of that time he was six, and his mom had to be rushed to the ER for severely burning her hand in the kitchen. He thought of how small he had been, how helpless, his blue eyes large when they stared back at him in the mirror.

He thought of when the Notre Dame Cathedral burned down. He remembered watching it on the news, his chest constricted tightly then too as a beloved piece of history and culture was mourned across every platform.

He thought of The Station nightclub in Rhode Island not even twenty years back. Great White had taken the stage just after eleven at night, and they opened with "Desert Moon." Then the sparks ignited the soundproofing behind their drummer and erupted into flames. And then Jack Russell casually said, "This ain't good," and people thought it was part of the show, until the band ran away, and then chaos ensued.

Now, Will watched with morbid fascination as the fire licked at the sides of the building. The brick on the outside was untouched, unable to catch on fire, but all the windows had blasted open, the glass shattered on the pavement before the little bakery. Black smoke billowed out of every crack in the building, every gap of oxygen, and he was just standing on the street, stunned. Red, white, and blue lights casted shadows on him, and then there were men and women in shiny, hard hats unraveling a thick hose, and the sirens were deafening. The entire inside of the structure was glowing a reddish-orange, like how he'd always imagined Hell would like, lighting up the night sky.

Part of him wondered if he should help. It was not like he was injured—he was just coming from the grocery story. He was pretty sure the ice cream had melted by now if it hadn't already. Besides, he was kind of qualified. He was still in his first year of residency, a junior anesthesiologist, but then EMS roared in front of the building, and he was sure they didn't need his help after all. What would they want with a kid?

He turned to walk away—this wasn't a spectacle, and it made him feel guilty that he had been watching it like a show in the first place—but then he froze.

There, in the ambulance where they'd laid down a dying patient with severe burns and welts, there was a boy, hovering over them.

Normally, Will wouldn't give a second glance, but this boy was not dressed like EMS. He was clothed in dark fabrics, and he had a pale olive complexion. The hair on his head could classify as a mop—it was ink black and unruly, strewn everywhere—and he was skinny, too skinny to be healthy. His cheeks had no color, a stark contrast from his hair, and the skin under his eyes was a little puffy and lavender like he'd been depriving himself of sleep for far too long.

Will felt a pang of something foreign in his chest. Maybe he was a dermatologist, Will mused. His skin was so pale that it would've made sense, and it—he suddenly realized why he had stopped in the first place. The boy was not in EMS. He was not in EMS! He was _touching_ the patient while nobody noticed, and he was not supposed to.

Will has always had a strong sense of what was wrong and right. Summoning his courage, he cleared his throat loudly. "Hey!"

The boy nearly fell off the back of the ambulance. His head whipped to look at him, and he met Will's eyes, and Will was pretty sure he forgot how to breathe because he had _beautiful_ eyes. Will suddenly didn't understand why people romanticized blue and green eyes quite as much as they did. Blue eyes were the ocean, sure, but these were the darkest eyes he'd seen in a lifetime. They held the weight of something ancient and older, like the boy knew much more than his years. They were obsidian like smooth marble; they were dark chocolate brownies on a cold, winter day; they were raven wings soaring through the abyss of night; they were endless black holes that no ocean could ever sweep away.

"What are you doing?" Will demanded, trying not to be completely winded by this ethereal, Prince of Hell-esque boy before him. He squinted at the patient. She had auburn hair and freckles, and she was breathing very shallowly. Too shallowly. They were probably not related at all, and that only made Will more suspicious. "Is she your loved one?" he asked, more gently this time.

The boy ignored him, opting to fumble around for something instead. He was cursing, probably from being caught, and Will scowled. "Hey," he said again, more impatiently this time, "I'm talking to you!"

He cursed again, and apparently he found what he was looking for because he pulled away from the girl and held something up.

Everything in Will went cold, thinking it was a gun at first, but then the boy pointed it at himself, and nothing happened.

"Hey, you!" A police officer pointed at Will, who'd ducked in front of the police tape to catch the shady boy. "What are you doing here?" Someone carried another girl on a stretcher, looking just as awful as the first, onto the ambulance. Then EMS was there, trying to revive them both, putting oxygen masks over their mouths and noses, and Will was being battered away. By some miracle, they didn't seem to notice the other boy at all.

"I was just asking this boy—"

"What boy?" the officer interrupted tiredly. Impatiently. Irritatedly. Sourly. "Scram, kid. This isn't a game."

"I—" Will cut himself off when he noticed the boy smirking. His mouth suddenly felt dry. How could they not see him? And he didn't know how he knew, but Will knew at once this boy _knew_ they couldn't see him. He was taking pleasure in everyone looking at Will like he was off his rocker. Will stumbled back, albeit reluctantly, away from the emergency. "You!" Will whisper-yelled, glaring at the boy. "What's going on?"

His smirk only deepened, and he tilted his head to one side and exposed the smooth ivory of his neck. A hint of mirth danced in his irises as the ambulance doors slammed closed and they peeled off toward a hospital.

Will walked home, feeling numb, and he slept it off, thinking it was a strange hallucination or a fever dream from overworking himself.

…

The next time Will saw him again, he was in the middle of assisting with surgery. His hand was absolutely cramping like a bitch, and he had to clamp his mouth shut to keep from complaining. He was pretty sure he was going to develop carpal tunnel syndrome from holding open the damn surgical retractors, and it didn't help that every time he fucked up, the head surgeon just started cursing like a sailor, mostly at him, and how stupid he was, and how did you even fucking graduate from medical school, you fucking _idiot._

The boy was leaning against the corner of the room, his arms crossed over his chest. He raised one dark eyebrow, something unfamiliar glittering in his black eyes.

Will absentmindedly wondered if it was possible to hallucinate the same figment of his imagination with the same details more than once. He half-expected the boy to smile, that same boyish smile where one corner of his mouth turned up. It was sort of sarcastic and endearing and _knowing._

"Solace!"

Will's head snapped back to where the surgeon was barking at him. He looked vaguely panicked, and like he was in a sour mood at the same time, which, of course, he always was. The beeping was louder and louder and more anxiety-inducing.

"Shit! Solace!" the surgeon screamed, and Will jumped to his feet, momentarily forgetting their invisible, enigmatic spectator. Michael Yew was small, but brutal. "God!" he yelled. "This is why you never _fucking_ work with residents. Fucking _kids._ How the fuck do you—" He continued like that for a minute or two more, ranting harshly, and Will just winced, taking it all and letting it go through one ear and out the other as they tried to save the patient's life. Will felt a sinking feeling as the blood pooled faster and faster. He could feel the boy's eyes on him, and it was unnerving.

"Phone the lab and ask for six more bags, fast," Michael demanded. He began packing the bleeding area with swabs to dam the flow and buy them some time, and there were people running around, doing as he said. Haemostatic gauze was placed over the vein, but the blood continued to spill in pools.

Will felt ill all of a sudden. He fetched the O negative blood, as per the consultant's instructions, his heart pounding loudly in his chest. There was an adrenaline syringe now, and Will felt his _own_ adrenaline rising. The battle continued. There were more stitches, swabs, hands in the patient's abdomen, blood, instruments, tension, and failure. Will began administering large doses of adrenaline, but the numbers on their screen were dropping, flashing at an alarming rate. The blood loss was relentless. The patient was grey, their face waxy, and Will's stomach dropped. Then Yew was performing futile, desperate compressions, but the patient was going into cardiac arrest, and—and then that was it. Nothing more could be done.

Michael left the operating table, ripped off his own gown, and slammed it into the bin. The door of the scrub room banged shut behind him. There was a pause as silence momentarily blanketed the room.

It was _awful._ Will felt his chest caving in. He shut off the drips, unsure of what protocol to follow.

The surgeon's assistant closed the abdomen with coarse sutures that lacked procedure or planning. Another doctor turned off the anesthetic gases and, with reluctance, the ventilator.

Will felt a morbid finality, one he had never experienced before. And, awfully enough, he felt a twinge of relief. Not that the patient was gone. Not that the surgeon was out of the room. But that he had not been in charge during the surgery, that he had not been required to make the big decisions nor stand by the outcomes. He was glad for once that he was a trainee with responsibility only to learn.

Then the boy was there. Will considered seeing a psychiatrist, but then the boy's hand brushed across his shoulder, sympathetically, _kindly_ , and Will knew he was going crazy because he felt it. It felt just as solid and as real as his mother's hand ruffling his hair, or his younger siblings clinging onto his legs when growing up, or being slapped across the face by Annabeth on accident when he entered a room too quietly, consequently scaring the hell out of her.

A staff materialized in the boy's hand, much to Will's bewilderment. He bitterly half-expected him to just beat the dead patient with it, because why the hell not? Everything was already turning to shit anyway. It surprised him further when the top of the staff changed, a silver, curved blade shooting out from the side. A scythe.

Will went pale. Dimly, he heard the surgeon's assistant in his ear, probably worried because it looked like he was staring off in the distance with horror, but it bounced off the outer shell of his ear.

Will nearly fainted when two wings sprouted from the boy's back next. Was he some sort of demon? Will never would've expected devils to be quite as pretty as he was right now. His wings were maybe twenty feet in length and large enough to comfortably wrap around his small frame. They arced high above his gracious head of dark hair. They were made of long, soft feathers like the fur of a black bear—thick and soft like a cloud. They were strong and powerful, like they could flap and strike a crowd of men into unconsciousness. The bones were visible around the sides, and, similar to bat wings, only the veins stood out greatly in contrast. As the bones curled to the top of the wings, large, ivory spikes, curved like elongated shark teeth, protruded from the top of the wings.

The mysterious boy peered down at the dead patient, his expression impassive and serious. His scythe began to glow and then, astonishingly, golden, liquid-like ribbons sprang into the air straight from the patient's chest, coiled around the weapon like snakes. It was wispy, and Will imagined that if he reached out, his hand would pass through it. It glimmered like the sun sparkling over a lake, and it whispered too. Will heard a faint buzzing and murmuring of incoherent syllables as it transferred into the scythe's blade.

A cold settled over the patient, and Will felt like they had died all over again, only it felt like a coffin being slammed shut—irreversible and unshaking. But he didn't shiver. He regarded the boy intently, his curiosity getting the best of him.

The boy cradled his scythe close to his heart, and the floor below his feet vanished, turning into a gaping void, a dark abyss Will could not follow him into.

Will felt his breath hitch. Everything in him screamed at him to hold onto this boy, to ask what was happening to him, to ask what he was doing, to beg on his knees for answers, for understanding, from escape from impending madness.

"Wait," said Will. "Wait." He felt like all the breath had been stolen from him.

The boy hesitated, but he didn't wait. He nodded discreetly at Will, acknowledging him coolly, and he dropped into the ground, just as the ground returned.

"Wait!" Will cried, more desperately. He sunk to his knees, reaching for him, but a cool gust of air blew through Will, and then he was gone.

"Will? Will, are you alright?" The blurriness of the assistant surgeon's voice dissipated, and it no longer sounded like she's underwater. "Will!"

He snapped out of it, looking at her in surprise. He was still on the floor, mind you.

"You look like you've seen a ghost!" Kayla exclaimed, her forehead puckering in concern. "Go home, Will."

"What?"

"Go home. Take a week off." Her hands flew to her hips.

"What about Michael—"

"I'll take care of him." Her eyebrows pinched down in concern. "You look like you're about to faint, my boy. Come on." She grabbed him by the arm, hauling him to his feet. Kayla might've been short, but she was strong, and she reminded him an awful lot of his mother. "I don't need anybody in this hospital screaming at grounds like a lunatic," she muttered. "Feel better, Will."

His tongue slid over the flat of his teeth. "Thank you," he permitted quietly, and, thinking of the patient, of what it meant to have their blood on his hands, of the boy and his scythe and his wings, he took the subway home.

…

Will scowled at the belly-up fish in frustration.

Maybe Michael was right. How was he expected to save patients if he couldn't even save stupid fish? He searched under the fish tank for a net to scoop up James Pond.

"You know, if you could keep something alive, that would be great. You're making my job way harder than it has to be."

Will froze. For a split second, he thought he'd imagined it. At this point, anything was possible. Slowly, he stood up and turned.

Standing against the opposite wall with a brooding expression was none other than the mysterious boy who had haunted his mind for the past two weeks ever since he ran into him in the back of that wailing ambulance. His wings were tucked behind him, and there was a lazy slump to his shoulders.

" _You."_ Will was so over it that he didn't even scream, even if he felt it come up in his throat at the sudden intruder.

"Me," he congratulated dryly.

He sniffed. "Well, I hope you're here to apologize. An entire week away from the hospital would be torture. Yew was an ass, but that didn't mean Will didn't love what he did.

"I suppose you're not bad still," the boy mused, ignoring his words completely. "The last boy who saw me fell in love, poor thing. He kept killing things so I'd show up, painting 'c-o-f-f-e-e-' on walls in their blood until I finally agreed."

Will blinked owlishly. "Who _are_ you?" He held up the net vaguely threateningly, pointing it at him.

He stared at the net that was far too close to his nose. "Nico."

He fell silent. It wasn't like he'd expected that to _work._ "And why are you in my house? Are you stalking me?"

"I—"

"Why can nobody else see you?" Will seethed, reaching his limit. "Is this because I killed my last fish too? Are you the ghost of fish past, here to punish me for my sins? Because it is _not_ my fault Swim Shady keeled over. I gave him _everything._ "

A muscle in Nico's cheek twitched. "No, I'm not."

"And why on earth do you have _wings,_ Nico? Am I going to Hell? Because my mom will throw a fit, just saying." _Nico._ It suited him, Will decided as he tasted it on his tongue. He thought he could get used to saying it except _no._ No, he didn't want to get used to saying it because this boy was strange and somewhat freaky, and Will wasn't about to start thinking about how his imaginary friends were attractive. That was an entirely new level of psycho he wasn't going to even dare touch.

"Ask my father," he said with a shrug. His irises gleamed with unspoken questions.

"And who is that?"

"Hades."

Shivers went up Will's spines like spiders, creepy and crawly and damp. He shuddered. "You had a scythe." He met Nico's eyes then, and he resisted the urge to tremble yet again. "You sucked that patient's soul out, didn't you?"

Nico hesitantly nodded. "You're going to be a doctor, I'm assuming, and this just happens to be my job too."

"You're the grim reaper," he breathed, stumbling back against the wall with a loud clatter.

"I guess you could call it that," he agreed with thinly veiled amusement. "I do prefer Nico, though."

"Why can I see you?" Fear coiled in the pit of Will's stomach. "Is someone around me going to die?"

Nico's eyes widened, losing the nonchalant attitude. "No! I forgot to disguise myself in the ambulance, so you saw me. After someone sees me, they can see me forever, no matter what I do."

"Oh." Will's heart steadied. "I'm assuming you're here to take my fish?"

Nico blinked. "That's it? No more freaking out? The last girl passed out, just so you know."

"Disappointed?" Will breathed, flushing slightly under Nico's intense gaze. He had just watched someone die in surgery. Winged, beautiful boys were hardly the worst of his nightmares.

"It's my only source of entertainment." He nodded at the fish. "Move," he gritted out.

Will stumbled out of the way. "He was dear to me, you know. You could show some sympathy."

Nico sucked his fish's soul into his scythe. It was liquid gold again, and Will was surprised by how much came out for such a small fish. Perhaps James Pond was deeper than he ever knew. "Sympathy doesn't do anybody anything," he said finally.

Will's mouth twisted down. "I'm sure that's not true. Sympathy is a foundation on which humanity is built. It is one of our greatest privileges." He peeked at Nico through his fan of dandelion lashes.

"That's the problem, then," Nico decided. "I'm not human." The ground began to turn black beneath him again.

"Wait!" said Will, suddenly desperate not to let him go. "Where are you going?"

"Isn't it obvious? The Underworld."

"When will I see you again?" Will felt his heart palpitating wildly at the bold question. That was so _not_ like him, and he wondered what Nico had done with the Will he used to know.

Nico shrugged one shoulder. "When you kill something again." And then he was gone.

...

Will was surprised by how long it took for him to become stir-crazy.

Well, how _short_ , technically.

"How?" he seethed, staring at the new fish he'd bought only a day before. It was already floating around. "I give you food; I buy a beautiful aquarium; I clean said aquarium _every_ week," he ranted. His theory was that his tank was too clean in comparison to the pet store's. Or maybe they killed just as many and threw them out before anyone could notice. Or maybe he really sucked at caring for fish. He glowered at the fish for a moment before reluctantly reaching for a net to fish it out. Maybe he just wouldn't get fish anymore. It was too heartbreaking to watch them die over and over again, and, more selfishly perhaps, infuriating.

More selfishly, probably, was the fact that he was irrationally excited to see Nico once more.

"I didn't mean to give you any ideas," Nico said sarcastically, appearing right by him. He stared at the pitiful fish.

"Ideas?"

"I told you the last guy started murdering people so I'd come. It seems you've taken a liking to killing fish." Nico rolled his eyes.

Will flushed in embarrassment for two reasons: one, at the insinuation that he had been _that_ desperate to see Nico again when he was only maybe a _little_ desperate, and two, that he'd resorted to murdering pets for said desperation. "I did _not._ I gave Tank Sinatra my heart, and he ruined it," he said indignantly. He watched as Nico bent over the fish, sucking up the soul without hesitation. "I would not," Will continued, summoning his bravery, "be opposed to coffee, though." He felt his face warm at his old uncharacteristic boldness.

Nico blinked. Once. Twice. "You mean like now? Because I kind of have to return the soul…" he trailed off awkwardly.

Will felt a surge of affection for this boy who had wormed his way into his heart with big, brown eyes and dry humor. "No," he said smoothly, _confidently._ "Sometime." It was a promise he had never been excited for.

Nico studied him curiously, and then the tiniest smile curved up at the corner of his mouth. "Sometime," he agreed, and he disappeared yet again.

Will totally didn't smile to himself like a dork that night in bed.

…

The fourth time Will saw him, Will had bought fish on sale, knowing they were going to die for the sheer purpose of seeing him. The light from Gilly Joel's tank illuminated his face. But he had no way to anticipate what was going to come.

Nico materialized near him once more, but instead of offering a shy smile or a witty commentary, he was paler than usual, and, most frighteningly, he flickered like a lightbulb. Black fog curled around him, and he stumbled.

"Nico?" Will was suddenly very aware of the panic growing in his chest.

He squeezed his eyes shut. "I'm fine. I just… I need a moment." His words were slurred like he was about to have a heart attack, and the fear in Will's heart spiked. Nico's scythe clattered to the ground and disappeared into thin air, probably because he wasn't in contact with it anymore. He swayed, and Will surged forward without missing a beat, just as he collapsed into his arms.

…

Will wasn't sure what the protocol for ghost kings were, but he managed to haul Nico to his own bed, being mindful of his wings. He was horrified by how light he was, and he suspected Nico was underweight and severely unhealthy. Will sprung into action, his years of med school kicking in. He propped Nico's legs up, going by all the normal rules for humans. Next, he moved for Nico's shirt, shoving the cloak away from his neck, and then he brushed Nico's hair out of his face. It was the softest thing Will had ever felt in his entire life.

Then he ran to get him water. Will tapped his foot against the wooden floors in a staccato rhythm. When he had caught Nico, his hand went through his shoulder. He wasn't solid like he had been before. He had turned to _smoke_ under his palm.

Will held the glass, filled to the brim and teetering, and carefully padded back into the room.

There was a low groan from the bed. Nico's wings fluttered nervously, uncomfortable from being pinned below him. His hand flew up to his forehead, and he winced, his eyes still closed. "What the hell?"

"Here," said Will, offering to help sit him up, but Nico batted his hands away.

He scowled. "I got this, doc," he said snippily, stubbornly sitting up all by himself. His face was still gaunt and white from fainting.

Will shoved the water in his face. "Drink," he commanded, his voice taking a no-nonsense tone.

"Where's your stupid fish?" he grumbled.

Will sternly crossed his arms over his chest. "Oh, no you don't. No death magic right now."

Nico's scowl deepened. "You're not my dad, and I already told you: I'm fine."

"Right now you couldn't summon a wishbone without melting into a puddle of darkness, Sunshine." Will didn't look away until Nico had finished drinking the entire thing. "What happened to you? I just reached _through_ you—" He cut himself off, terrified.

Nico rubbed his temples with his index fingers. "I think I just exerted myself a little too much."

"No kidding," said Will. "Can I get you anything? I don't know how to heal non-humans, I'm afraid." He offered a tiny, worried smile.

"No, I just—I just need to get home."

"Home?" Will echoed. "Don't you have to, um, teleport for that?"

"Shadow travel," Nico corrected, nodding slowly.

Will's eyebrows pinched down, and he frowned. "You'll pass out," he said, fretting like a mother hen.

"No," Nico protested. "I'll be fine. I _need_ to get home. My father's expecting me."

"But—"

"I have to."

"But your health—"

Nico rolled his eyes. "I'm leaving now—"

"No!" Will grabbed onto him. "No, you're resting."

Nico's eyes darkened. "Oh, yeah? Who says?"

" _I_ say," Will demanded, narrowing his eyes at him. "Doctor's order."

"You're not a doctor yet."

"I'm still more qualified than _you._ " Will put his hands on his hips. "Now, what do you want for dinner?"

"Dinner?" Nico echoed, looking at him with large eyes.

"Do you not have meals or something?"

Nico glowered at him. "I'm still half human, idiot. I'm not an _alien._ "

Will beamed. "Great. What would you like then?"

He regarded Will intently. "You can cook?"

"I kind of have to." He gestured to the empty apartment. "You can't?"

Nico rubbed the back of his neck. "I can do Italian. That's about it. I don't usually have time, though."

"Really?" The idea of a winged, devilish boy doing something as domestic as making pasta or excited Will far too much. "What'd you last eat?"

"Um. McDonalds."

Will groaned. "That's terrible for you."

Nico shrugged his slim shoulders. "It gets the job done."

"When's the last time you had a home-cooked meal?"

"It's been a while," Nico mumbled begrudgingly.

Will smiled down at him. "How do fajitas sound?"

Nico's eyes lit up, and Will chuckled to himself. "I'll take that as a yes."

...

Will had never expected that when Death came knocking on his door, he'd be preparing dinner for him.

Now he gnawed anxiously on his bottom lip as Nico stared down at the plate before him. "What's wrong?"

Nico glanced up at him, and Will found that he frustratingly couldn't read his expression. "It's… it's pretty," he said finally.

It was true. The skillet was filled with colorful peppers and neat slices of chicken. On another plate, there was an assortment of vibrant guacamole, sour cream, cheese, and pico de gallo.

"In all fairness," Will began, helping himself to some guac. "I didn't make the sour cream or the tortillas," he teased.

Nico slowly smiled, and Will couldn't help but wish he'd do that a lot more often. It was the sweetest, most breathtaking thing he'd ever laid eyes upon, besides Nico himself of course.

"So?" Will prompted, watching apprehensively as Nico took a bite.

He chewed for a moment, and then shied when he felt Will's gaze. "It's good," he allowed, quietly, _timidly._ Who would've thought the grim reaper was a bashful teen who flushed easily?

Will's heart clenched at the sight, and he internally chastised himself. If he thought what was happening was happening, it had better not be. He'd always known he was a hopeless romantic, and he'd always known he had a tendency to crush on basically any boy that had ever been nice to him, but he just couldn't help himself. He also totally had a thing for athletic boys that made his heart pound too fast. Nico's easy grace with his wings, and penchant for black clothes and skull ring, and his dry sense of humor was never something Will would've seen coming in a million years. But sitting here, across from him, Will realized with defeat that maybe he did have a thing for edgy, reckless guys after all.

Of course that meant his heart was going to be stomped all over. Reckless boys meant trouble, and that meant Will would be tugged in every direction possible. He cringed. It was like he had a death wish or something.

"Here," said Will, stacking more tortillas onto the ghost king's plate.

Nico made a noise of protest in the back of his throat, his mouth full. He glared daggers at Will, who only smiled sweetly.

"You're too skinny. _Unhealthily_ skinny. Eat."

Nico rolled his eyes again—something he seemed to do too often—and he ate.

...

Nico politely dabbed at his mouth with a napkin. It seemed, for all his sarcasm, he had manners after all.

Will's mouth went dry. Well, of course he did. He was practically the prince of Hell.

"I should get going." Nico nodded. "This was really... nice of you, though. You didn't have to do that," he said finally, his voice soft.

"Yes, I did." They both ignored the deeper implications behind his words. "Hey, I'm running out of names for my fish."

"Because you keep killing them."

"No need to rub salt in the wound." Will crossed his arms over his chest.

Nico smirked. "So what do you want me to do?"

"I'm thinking of getting a red one this time. Any suggestions?" He felt like he was holding his breath.

The floor below Nico began to turn to black, shadowy quicksand again. He threw Will a way too careless smile, one that made Will turn as pink as a rose. "Anne of Sea Gables."

...

Two weeks later, Anne was, surprisingly still alive, and he had never thought he'd more unhappy to have a living pet.

Will lay around in his bed, feeling extra lazy that Sunday morning. He was thinking of calling his mom or meeting up with his friends. It was rare when he didn't have to come into work or be yelled at Yew. He rolled over onto his side, running his hand through his messy hair, and he nearly went into cardiac arrest.

He sat up quick enough to nearly fall back over the other way. "Nico!" he exclaimed. "How long were you standing there exactly?" Every bit of his mind was focusing on the fact that Nico stood fully dressed and cleanly washed, and he, on the other hand, looked like he'd been in a trainwreck. His hair was standing up all over the place, but it didn't look attractive like when Nico did it, and his cheeks were flushed like tomatoes, and he was in an old, ratty t-shirt with Mickey Mouse on the front, and he was _mortified._

Nico looked at him oddly. "Like two seconds."

He let out a breath of relief he hadn't known he'd been holding in.

Nico tilted his head to one side, and Will just wanted to squish his face. "You know, your resemblance to Apollo is striking. Same hair, similar eyes, same smile. Except you don't write bad poetry. I hope."

Will blinked. "Thank you?" His eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Apollo was real too? God, were they all? "Not to be indelicate, but what exactly are you doing here, in my room, at," he glanced at his alarm clock, "nine in the morning?"

"Ew, don't talk about the time. Just hearing it makes me cringe, but I figured you're an early riser."

Will cracked a smile. "I am," he permitted.

Nico's wings fluttered nervously, delicately like butterflies. "You asked about coffee the other day. I don't know if you have any plans today, but I figured it'd be pretty safe, being a Sunday and all."

"Oh." His eyes widened. He smothered down a smile. "Let me just get ready. You can sit down. There's the TV if you want."

Nico eyed the bed warily before balancing on the edge of it. He blinked up at the black screen.

Will turned it on, tossing him the remote. Nico stared at it, dumbfounded, and Will wondered if they had TVs in the Underworld. He excused himself and disappeared into the bathroom. There, he stared at himself in the mirror and splashed water on his face. Drops rolling down his skin, he just put his head into his hands and chuckled out of pure disbelief. And then he ran around showering and brushing his teeth to get ready.

...

When Will poked his head out, still damp, he wasn't sure what he was expecting. He scrutinized the TV, and then Nico who was so engrossed.

"What _is_ that?"

Nico's head snapped up. "Yu-Gi-Oh."

"You play Yu-Gi-Oh?" He wasn't sure how to take that.

"I used to. That, and Mythomagic. But Mythomagic was a couple hundred years ago."

"How old _are_ you?"

"About five hundred or so." Nico shrugged. "I forget."

"No kidding." Will shook his head to himself, trying not to think about it too much. "You look good for five hundred."

At that, Nico's ears turned pink. "What about you?"

"Twenty-seven."

Nico smirked. "Baby."

"Do you like the coffee shop down the street?" Will asked, grabbing his keys. It was warm enough that he didn't need a coat, and Nico had shedded his aviator jacket or cloak.

"Never been."

"Of course you haven't. Come on; it's adorable, and it has the best coffee in the city."

...

"Why am I not supposed you take your coffee black?"

Nico shot him a look. "Shouldn't you be happy? It's better than drinking a crap ton of sugar."

Will grinned. "That's true." Everything about this moment felt so surreal. He felt young again, like he had in high school before the world beat him down. Nico looked younger like this too in jeans and a t-shirt. He seemed like he had reverted back to the goths from his high school, and he didn't look so tired when he was inhaling the caffeine like he needed it to survive.

Nico was a man of few words. He asked more questions than he answered, but Will was happy to oblige. He told him about college, med school, residency, Michael Yew, Kayla Knowles, his mom Naomi, his friends.

"Percy?" Nico's head snapped up and out of the rim of his cup. His dark eyebrows furrowed.

"Yeah?"

"As in Percy Jackson?"

Will nodded again, slower this time. "You know him?"

Nico's eyes were sad then, sadder than Will had ever seen before. It made his heart physically ache as the melancholy washed over him. "I don't usually remember you humans, not unless something profound happens.

"And?" Will prompted.

"I remember when I came to collect his step-father."

All the color drained from Will's face. He remembered Smelly Gabe vividly; he wished he didn't. Will liked to think of himself as a pretty easy going guy. He was slow to anger, and he didn't _hate_ anyone, really. He just wanted them to find their happiness, and he knew people had it harder than it seemed on the surface. That said, Will absolutely _loathed_ Gabe. He had despised the man when he was alive, and he despised him now too, even after he'd died. He hoped Hell had a special place for people like him. Absentmindedly, he realized Nico would probably know, but it felt inappropriate and intrusive to inquire.

"There was a little boy standing over him. No horror in his face. No remorse. It was only later than I learned what had happened," Nico narrated, twirling the napkins on the table quietly.

Will set down his blueberry muffin, feeling bile rise in his throat. He remembered too. A heart attack. The greatest heart attack of all time. Will _hoped_ it'd hurt.

"There was such a blank look on his face. I remember he saw me."

Will's heart skipped a beat at that. His friend technically knew him. What a small world.

"That isn't why I remember him, though."

Will's stomach sunk. _Please don't be in love with Percy. Please don't tell me you've seen him a million times._

"I'd had a disguise on." Nico's eyes were wide. "And he still saw me. I should've been invisible."

Will's throat felt tight. "What's wrong with Percy?"

"There's only two ways to see me with a disguise the first time: you're not human, at least not entirely like me, or you're messed up."

Will cocked an eyebrow. "I'm going to need more than that." He was still confused.

Nico inhaled sharply. "Some say… some say that when you've faced enough grief, enough trauma, you can see me regardless. I never thought it was true. And then I met him." Nico shook his head, sipping silently. "He didn't even scream. Didn't go running to his mom that there was a strange guy in his kitchen." He smiled humorlessly. "He just took a step back, and he watched me take the soul, and when I went to leave, he still didn't make a single sound. Never saw him again, and I hope I won't have to, not for a very, very long time."

Will swallowed thickly. "That's awful." His hand reached out all on its own to comfort Nico.

He seemed startled. His eyes flickered to where Will's hand rested on his on the table. "Yes," he whispered. "He's doing alright?"

Will smiled softly. "He's got a beautiful wife, and he's got a job he loves, and he's still close with his mother and little step-sister from his mom's second marriage, and he's got a wonderful puppy. He's doing fantastic."

The change in Nico's face was so miniscule that Will suspected no one else would have caught it, but he did. And it meant the world to him. There was something so humane about the expression on his face, and it made Will's heart break into a million pieces.

"Good," was all Nico said. He winced only a second later, and Will thought he'd scorched his tongue on his coffee, but it was not that. "I should probably let you go. Duty calls."

Will's eyes widened fractionally. "Who?"

Nico looked at him like he'd grown a second head. "What do you mean _who?_ Every second, 1.8 humans die. I'm just running behind. Well—more than usual, I suppose."

Will felt sick. "God."

"Gods," Nico corrected. "By the way," he said, standing up, "Anne's going to die in four days. Prepare yourself." He reached for the door to the café, disintegrating the moment he'd stepped out the door.

Will peered down at the cold coffee before him. He fumbled with his phone, searching for Percy's contact. Logically, he knew Percy was perfectly fine, happy even, but he couldn't help but wanting to hear his and Annabeth's voices.

...

Part of Will expected Nico to leave that day and never come back, not until Anne had disappeared, but he did. This time, Nico took him out for an Italian dinner. Will had expected a nice pub in downtown New York, but no. They went to _Italy._ Shadow travel made Will queasy, but it was worth it to see Nico speak in Italian with people around them. It was quite frankly the most attractive thing Will had witnessed. He should've known he was so very screwed from the moment Nico crawled into that ambulance. Another language? Will felt himself go weak, melting.

"This is so cool," Will said for the nth time—he couldn't help himself from saying it a thousand times more. He admired the architecture and was sure to take heaping amounts of pictures for Annabeth to gush over later.

Nico shrugged nonchalantly. "It's no big deal. I could take you any time you wanted."

There was that feeling again—the one where his throat felt like it was closing, and his blood roared in his ears like the Niagara Falls. "Okay," he murmured, his voice only cracking slightly. They sat in front of a fountain, the water lit up by the sparkling lights under the stars. "Tell me about your mother," Will requested.

They walked as they talked, the cool night air stirring their hair. Will had wanted to run his fingers through Nico's hair for as he had remembered.

As Nico spoke about his mortal mother and sisters, Will found himself soaking up every word like a sponge. More fascinating was the way Nico talked about them, a dim sparkle in his eyes. It was clear he was fond of them. When he was finished, Will couldn't bring himself to tear his gaze away. Nico was captivating. And maybe it was because there was something inexplicably sad about Nico, or maybe it was just because Will suspected Nico had never felt that type of love, or maybe it was because Nico was so small and fragile deep down, but he had never wanted to hold someone as bad as he wanted to hold Nico right then.

He wasn't sure who moved to who first, only that, seconds later, his lips latched onto Nico's, and they were kissing in the moonlight in Italy like a cheesy romcom. Nico's heart was palpitating loudly, surely, but Will couldn't hear a thing over the beat of his own heart in his head.

It was no longer about attraction. The stakes were so much higher now, and the higher up you went, the more fatal the fall.

Will wanted _this,_ all of this, no matter how crazy. He wanted to wake up to dark wings and feathers in his mouth until he shoved Nico off the bed. He wanted to watch Nico stumble around the kitchen until he got his morning dose of coffee. He wanted to take his temperature when he was sick and feed him chicken noodle soup. He wanted to listen to Nico talk about his family for all of eternity. He wanted to be part _of_ that family. He wanted to show this broken, tired immortal what it felt like to feel human again, to feel things so deeply—the good and the bad. He wanted to see Nico every day, not just when something was _dying,_ for God's sake. He wanted to grow plants with Nico and show him a life that was bursting with love. A love bursting with life.

He pulled away, and he gasped desperately for air. Nico's eyes were fluttered shut, and his own were half-lidded. His breath mingled with Nico's, and Nico smelled a bit like pomegranates. It was intoxicating.

This was how Will wanted to remember Nico for the rest of his life, a blissful smile occupying half of his face, his dark eyelashes feathered down his high cheekbones, casting shadows across his porcelain skin. Will was fascinated by how beautiful one devil could be.

He was so dazed, in fact, that he didn't see the car driving like a crazy person on the road.

All Will saw was headlights, and dread coiled in the pit of his stomach as he froze, paralyzed.

"Shit, _Will!"_

He felt someone shove him back, and he nearly fell, but arms came around him, steadying him. Wings tore through the fabric back of a t-shirt. They beat strongly. Once. Twice.

The car's glass shattered at the sheer power of the current, and the car itself blew down the block a couple feet. The man stumbled out of the driver door, dazed and angry. He began cursing, but Will wasn't paying attention.

He was staring at Nico in front of him, who had shielded him with his body. With the street lights shining down on him, his wings didn't look so scary anymore. No—they could've been mistaken for an angel's. A dyed angel. A stained angel.

The last thing he saw were two terrified black eyes staring back into his.

…

When Will came to, he was lying in his own bed. All the lights were off, and the covers were tucked to his chin. He sat up slowly, uncomfortably. Surprisingly, there was no pain. He figured he'd passed out from sheer shock or fright, but he felt perfectly fine.

Well, maybe he wasn't after all. His mouth tasted a whole lot like Naomi's waffles which made _zero_ sense, considering his mother was still back in Texas, and he was in New York.

Will's eyes landed on the note at his bedside. Gingerly, he plucked the piece of paper from the smooth wood.

_I'm sorry._

That was it. No signature, even if Will knew it was Nico. No explanation of his disappearance. No nothing.

Will felt a pang of disappointment. He pushed the covers off and quietly went to the living room where his fish tank illuminated the room. He peered in it expectantly. It was the fourth day. Sure enough, Anne floated on her side at the top of the water.

Will half-expected Nico to show up any moment and reap Anne's soul, but when he looked closer at the fish, it had that same final feeling that the patient in surgery had had after Nico was done with them. So he had already been here. He hoped the apology was for the loss of his fish, but Will had a sinking feeling that wasn't it. Nico said sympathy did no one any good. He wouldn't care about the fish.

The apology was straight from his magical heart to Will's.

Sorry for what? For kissing him? For opening his heart to a weak human? For giving him the time of day? For forgetting his disguise that night in front of the burning building?

Will slid to his knees, exhaustion overtaking him. His head fell into his hands, and he just exhalely raggedly.

…

Will didn't see Nico again for at least four months. He wanted to pretend it didn't hurt at all, but it did. It hurt like a fricking bitch, and sometimes he just wanted to be mad. He wanted to be really angry with Nico, but then other times, he thought of how Nico had come to his aid, saving him in the street. How he had taken him all the way to Italy. How his voice had sounded talking about Percy. How he had looked, smiling with that faraway look in his eyes back in that coffee shop as Will told him about his friends and his family. How he had scowled darkly, _murderously,_ when he talked about Michael Yew. How he had told him he'd take him anywhere he wanted to go anytime he wanted.

Will threw himself into residency. Michael's harshness was nothing compared to the numbing feeling in his heart.

He was reaching his limit. He just wanted a second to exhale. He just wanted to breathe. (But every time he remembered Nico's lips on his, unsure and hesitant, he lost all capability to take in air and expel it all over again).

Fall came and went, and then winter fell upon Will.

Sharkira died, then Bubble Fett, then Guppie Goldberg, then Tuna Del Ray. Harley Finn was going to go any moment, probably. Nico would've known, but he was nowhere to be found.

Sometimes, Will woke up in the morning, and it was clear the fish's soul was gone, that Nico had been there, but there was no interaction between them both.

One time, Will even tried to stay awake the entire night to catch Nico, but on those days, his fish seemed to die in the day instead when Will was at work. Or he'd fall asleep after a long, gruesome day at the hospital.

Will cried too. He hated himself for it. He barely _knew_ Nico, but that with residency just began to get to him. At one point, he'd mistakenly left an empty pill bottle on a table in a patient's room, and then his attending, who _hated_ him for reasons he couldn't fathom, basically tried to report him to the heads of the hospital. That meant the tiniest mistake could get him kicked out of residency. That meant all four years of medical school, all four years of undergrad, all four years of high school and working his ass off—none of it meant anything. Once you were deemed unfit for residency, you were unallowed to work for a medical permit ever again.

All of his student debt would go to waste. All the money he had saved. All the money his _mom_ had given him. All the years he'd spent working so hard. All the nights he'd spent, not sleeping a wink to memorize all the information. All the mornings he'd spent tearing up from stress.

It crashed down him all at once. It felt like he'd reached an all point low. But Will had always had rotten luck. Just when the world seemed to hate him, it simply had to get worse. So much worse.

Will felt the familiar cool gust of air on the back of his neck. He scooped Harley Finn out. He was so done with fish, with everyone and _everything_ to be honest.

"Here," said Will savagely, and he spun on his heels and plopped a dead, wet fish in Nico's hands.

"Hello to you too," Nico said quietly. He just stared at the fish, lost.

Will felt his emotions betray him, unshed tears stinging his eyes. He didn't want to do this—not now, not ever. He was _hurt._ Four months. Fucking four months and not one glimpse of the boy who had been so kind. Four months of anguish and stress and just _shit._ All of it. He felt himself reaching his peak, his point of breaking.

He wasn't invincible. If you hit him, he bruised. If you cut him, he bled. And if you hurt him, he mourned. He was human. He was human in all the ways that sucked, all the ways that nipped and bit and clawed at his heart. He was just a pathetic human from whom Nico had fled.

"You left me," Will reminded him, and he hated the way bitterness bled into his tone. He didn't _want_ to be like that. He didn't think he was the type of guy to let the world get him down. He was optimistic, and loyal, and strong. He felt an awful lot like a shell now. "I don't think that warrants a hello. Just take the stupid fish and go."

Nico met his eyes, and it pained worse than Will could've ever anticipated. It felt like being stabbed by a dagger right in the gut. He exhaled roughly. There was pain in Nico's face too, but Will didn't want any of it.

"I know," Nico accepted morosely. "I'm sorry."

"It's not enough." Not now, not ever. He tried to drill it into his mind so he wouldn't forget. Reckless boys left you hurt, and he had known it from the day he laid eyes on him, and it was a mistake in the first place. He reached for the door, about to disappear back into his bedroom. Nico could stand out there all night and rummage around with the fish for all he cared, but Will was too tempted by fatigue.

"Will, wait." To his surprise, Nico's skinny arm shot out and grabbed his wrist. It was warm, strange for a man Will had always assumed would be cool to the touch, simply from how he carried himself.

Will resisted the urge to yank his hand out of his grip. Awfully enough, Nico's dull warmth was soothing. "Either tell me what happened, or get out of my house," Will demanded, his chest constricting.

"You're not going to like what I say," Nico whispered.

Will coldly crossed his arms across his chest. "I don't like being abandoned with no explanation even more."

Nico guiltily shifted his weight onto his other leg. "I got in trouble for saving you."

Will blinked. "Oh." His arms fell to his sides. "That's all?" That made sense. Hades didn't want his son interfering with the natural course of life. "Why didn't you just tell me?"

Nico swallowed noisily. "That's not all."

Something didn't feel quite right. Nico was super fidgety, whereas Will was used to his unnatural, not human stillness. "Yes?" He practically choked out the word.

"My father is mad that I saved you because… because you were supposed to die that day."

Will reeled like he'd slapped him. "Excuse me?"

"I hadn't known it'd be in Italy, but—"

"But you'd known, regardless?" Will felt something awful crawl up his throat.

"I—"

"Tell me the truth."

Nico's shoulders slumped in defeat. "Yes."

Realization struck Will. "So what was this, then? Was this some grand ploy, some way for you to make the time pass as you waited for my death?"

"No—"

"And what would _you_ want with my sad, human soul? I'm not special like you," he spat. He wanted to throw up, and he held his hands up in surrender, backing away from Nico hastily.

"Because demigod souls are valued, and there are so few left, and I'm supposed to take extra caution with them."

Will breathed. Once. Twice. No matter how he tried to drag the air in, it wouldn't come. " _What?"_ He had never known his father, but this was preposterous.

"I told you that you looked like Apollo. I slipped up." Nico grimaced.

He couldn't breathe, he couldn't breathe, he couldn't _breathe._ "All this time, all this time I thought you were kind. I thought you liked me. I thought we—" He cut himself off. There was no "we." There was only the mind-fuck of the true identity of his father, a truth Will had a hard time believing. And then there was the fact that Nico had hung around him, awaiting his death quietly, _knowing_ and saying nothing. Will gasped, grasping for the corner of the couch for steadiness. _Air. Give me air._

He crumbled to his feet from equal parts shock and denial.

It suddenly made so much sense. It made sense how that boy from his neighborhood's bone had healed from just regular, poor care from little Will when he was just a kid. It made sense that he had tasted his mother's waffles—ambrosia, Will remembered reading about when Nico had told him way back when that his father was Hades, and he'd researched Greek mythology extensively, even calling up Annabeth for help. All the strange things that had happened in his life. It all added up.

But none of that took away from Nico's betrayal. _I'm sorry_ , he had said. It hadn't been only for kissing him, or for opening his heart to a weak "human," or for giving him the time of day, or for forgetting his disguise that night in front of the burning building. It was for saving his life. It was for messing up his precious demigod soul. It was for not letting him _die._

"Will…" Nico trailed off.

"No," Will muttered, his eyes wide with fear and anger and _tears._ "Get out."

Nico backed up in surprise. "It's not like that. I wasn't allowed to tell you. How was I supposed to know we—I—"

"Get _out_ , Nico." The tears that had fought so hard to stay within the ducts spilled over the edge, clinging to his lashes as he quietly lost his last semblance of sanity.

Nico only ducked his head in shame and grief and remorse, and he dissipated where he stood.

Half God? Will certainly didn't feel like it. Had his entire life been planned out by this destiny? Was his love for medicine even real, or was that all his father? Was anything with Nico real at all? Was he even meant to be here, doing what he was doing now? All he knew was that he wished waking up didn't feel like such a giant fuck-you every morning. All he knew was that this was not okay, and that his limit had been so far lost that he didn't recognize it anymore.

Will sat there for a long time, staring at the wall across from the couch. He wondered if Apollo was watching him, and if he was disappointed.

...

Two days later, Will discovered he could heal with his palms, that what he had done to the boy in his neighborhood back in elementary school wasn't a mistake. Golden light, much like the soul light Nico collected like Pokémon, poured from his hands if he wanted it to, transferring into his patients.

All of a sudden, Michael Yew was running out of things to yell at him about. Kayla's eyes shone with pride on the daily. Patients asked about him, growing close to him, unknowingly enjoying the warmth of Will's magic. Percy even called, his voice thick with emotion, because Annabeth was pregnant, and Piper was freaking out with excitement, and he wanted Will to visit later that night.

Everything seemed to be coming up Solace. Life had a funny way of giving him relief after he'd broken down completely. It was almost like Apollo was smiling down on him, blessing him over and over and over again.

It was a weight off his chest. He no longer felt a thousand elephants pressed down on him every second of every day, except for one thing. There was still a nagging ache in him.

His fish tank was empty, and Nico was nowhere to be found.

It'd been a month since Will kicked him out. He supposed he didn't blame Nico for coming back. Knowing Nico, he was probably beating himself up about it every waking moment, and maybe even every sleeping with his harmful subconscious. He was probably forgetting to eat all the damn time. He was probably pale and sickly with overworking himself. He had up and disappeared, and it made Will feel awful.

He wasn't angry anymore. Will wasn't the type of boy to hold onto grudges. Yes, what Nico had done, withholding vital information and keeping secrets, it had all hurt. But Will forgave him for all of that. He tended to forgive with time, and this was no different.

But… there was only one thing he couldn't quite let go. _Was it all a lie?_ Was his mouth on his fake? Was it all a mirage? If it was, then Will never wanted to see Nico again. The rest, however horrendous, he could excuse. He could not let this one go. If Nico had never liked him at all, then the rest didn't matter one bit. Then it was a wound he would carry with him for the rest of his life.

Will went through the motions of every day. He felt Nico's presence every time he made Italian food or pulled out a particularly nice bottle of wine.

"Congratulations." Will forced his mouth to curve up in a radiant smile. "You're practically glowing."

Annabeth laughed kindly. "I doubt it, but thank you."

Percy peered at Will oddly out of the corner of his eye as he cleared the plates for the three of them. "Hey, Will, want to help me in the kitchen for a moment?"

Will stood, brushing nothing off his pants—it was simply a habit—and followed Percy into the secluded room.

"Okay, what's going on?" Percy demanded, his sea green eyes glinting with curiosity.

Will was taken aback. "What are you talking about?"

"You never told me you had a boyfriend."

Will felt all the air leave his chest. Percy knew heartbreak when he saw it. It was like his sixth sense, Will realized, and he remembered Nico's voice, echoing in his head, hauntingly beautiful: _I never thought it was true. And then I met him._ "I don't. I didn't," Will stuttered. Technically, he was telling the truth.

But Percy just gave him a knowing look as he stuck his hands in the warm, soapy suds of the sink as he did the dishes, and Will spilled his heart out, telling him all about Nico, save for the details about Gods and the Underworld and wings. When he was finished, Percy only regarded him sympathetically.

"It sounds to me like you just need to give him a chance to talk. I bet he misses you just as fiercely."

"You think?" Will slumped against the counter, distraught. Percy always gave the best advice for matters of the heart, anyway. Sometimes Piper got a little too lost with her head up in the clouds, and Percy was grounded, giving off the boy next door vibe. The helpful, friendly older brother or fun cousin.

Percy shrugged one shoulder. "Sure. I think he still needs to apologize, probably _wants_ to apologize, but he never got the chance. It's okay that you kicked him out, of course. It was well within your rights, but maybe it's time to give him that chance. Everyone deserves a second chance."

Will's mind was already whirring with ideas. "Thanks, Percy."

"Anytime."

…

Was it slightly sociopathic to buy fish on sale again? Perhaps. Did he also feel slightly psychotic for trying to lure a stupid prince of Hell to his humble apartment with a soon-to-be dead pet? Definitely yes.

Not even three hours after he'd purchased the sick goldfish, it'd keeled over.

Will looked around the room expectantly. He prayed then, something he hadn't done in eternity. This time he prayed to his own father, a God and concept Will still had trouble grappling with. He imagined that sort of inner peace and assurance would come with time, but for now, he just wanted to see the boy he'd kissed in Italy under the night sky.

The moonlight shone through his window, the New York streets glittering with lights and cars and the occasional honk far, far below.

He waited.

More cars passed.

He waited.

Shellen DeGeneres continued to float on her side.

He waited.

Nothing happened. Will's heart felt heavy. He had blamed so much on the world like it owed him. He needed the air back in his lungs, and there was no fresher air than the one he breathed with Nico by his side. He had taken Nico for granted. Nico had made a mistake, so many mistakes, but he just pushed him away. He had drowned in feeling foolish so quickly that he had never entertained the thought that maybe Nico really _had_ liked him after all.

Percy was right: people deserve second chances.

If it wasn't for second chances, Will would still hate his father, thinking him to be a deadbeat, good-for-nothing man. He wouldn't have been sitting there, jaded, allowing his father to have a second chance in his heart. He wouldn't have stayed after Michael Yew shredded his self-esteem to bits in his first week in residency. He wouldn't have fallen in love with the medical field, even after watching a patient die. He wouldn't have gotten drunk on life—one of the purest feelings on this earth—and he wouldn't have been shaped into the person he was today.

With a heavy heart and heavy feet, Will waited barely another second. Nothing happened. He reached for the doorknob, but there was a cold wind behind him.

Will's chest burst with hope he hadn't felt in so long.

He turned around, and, standing nervously in the doorway, was none other than the winged, misunderstood boy. There were dark circles under his eyes, and he was pale as Will had expected.

"I thought you stopped getting fish," Nico rasped after a silence that was long enough to be awkward. It should've been awkward. It wasn't awkward. It should've been painful. It wasn't painful.

"Was any of it real?" Will asked, ignoring the original question. His heart leapt into his mouth. The moment of truth.

"I wouldn't have told you the truth if it wasn't." He shrugged helplessly.

Will's face warmed. Of course. If it had all been a lie, what incentive did Nico have to tell him what he had done? He wouldn't have had any reason to fess up. He could've lied straight to his face and disappeared into the shadows. He wouldn't have cared what Will thought about him.

"You're so stupid," Will informed him.

Nico flinched. "I know. I'm sorry."

"And foolish."

"I know."

"And terrible."

"I know."

"I'm still mad at you, just the slightest bit."

"I know."

Will smiled. "Come on. Help me drain this stupid tank. I'm sick of fish." He preferred something more permanent, he mused to himself.

Nico's mouth opened and closed, stunned. "What?"

"We don't have all day." Will lazily leaned against the wall. "I still need to make dinner."

"For whom?" Nico looked bewildered. "It's so late; didn't you eat?"

"For _you_ , Sunshine. You look like you've got one foot in the grave, and don't even tell me you need to get home. Right now you couldn't summon a wishbone without melting into a puddle of darkness, Sunshine," Will said, mirroring his words from so many months ago.

Nico regarded him intently, tilting his head to one side.

And maybe it was because there was something inexplicably sad about Nico, or maybe it was just because Will suspected Nico had never felt that type of love, or maybe it was because Nico was so small and fragile deep down, but he had never wanted to hold someone as bad as he wanted to hold Nico right then.

This time, it was mostly certainly Nico who moved first. He pressed his lips to Will's, in the moonlight once more, and Will, who had been searching for his purpose all his life, who had been unable to breathe, truly and freely for so long, found that he didn't even _like_ air if it was Nico's mouth which was pressed against his.

His lips brushed Will's, testing the limits, soft and hesitant.

"That's it?" Will whispered. "I don't see you for a month and a half, and that's it?" He grabbed Nico by the front of his shirt, fisting the fabric in his hand, and kissed him fiercely, pouring all his love from his entire life into it, all the frustration, all the adoration.

Nico's arms wound around him, both to stabilize himself from the sudden shift in balance and to draw them closer together.

Will crushed himself against him, pressing them close together until he forgot where he ended, and where Nico began. He buried his hands in Nico's hair, and it was as soft as he'd always dreamt, and then he let his hand wander down Nico's back. It was as if he couldn't hold him close enough.

Dinner at five in the morning. Odd, but so were they. Will let the dawn rising in the window over New York City creep into his heart, expanding, growing so that they were a love bursting with life. He let it grow further with the brush of Nico's tongue against his, let it multiply tenfold when Nico pulled away, his eyes still fluttered shut just like after the first time. There was the faint scent of pomegranate lingering in the air once more, enveloping Will in comfort. Apollo's sun rays kissed Will's back and the planes of Nico's face from behind them.

The fish tank's water glowed from the golden sunlight's kiss, and, streaking across the cream carpet and comfy couch in shards, was the gods' graffiti displayed proudly:

A rainbow.


End file.
